


What's In A Name?

by goodwineandcheese



Series: For the Love of Life [1]
Category: Monster
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Grimmer's trying guys :(, Sad, allusions to past abuse, mild romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 09:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20833382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodwineandcheese/pseuds/goodwineandcheese
Summary: A child's name is something precious. Grimmer understands this. He hopes that his child can be given a good one.





	What's In A Name?

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking sad thoughts about how Grimmer must have felt when it came to naming his son. Grimmer never really got to know anything about what his name really is or why he was named that...so I imagine this was probably a bit of a sad time for him. So here's a lil fic about what that might have been like.

“Welcome home." came a wafting, feminine voice from somewhere beyond the front foyer. "How was work?”

That question came up a lot. Not every day, she didn’t always ask; sometimes a greeting when he came home was enough. But usually there was accompanying small talk - idle questions about the trip home, weather, anything interesting that day. Grimmer imagined that she was probably a bit lonely. Her pregnancy had put her beyond the ability to do her work - or rather, she had been told as much by her supervisor. Knowing her, she would have liked to try for yet a bit longer, but the message had been quite firm. She had taken it with grace, agreed - that indeed, it was better this way, while she functioned in the place of two lives instead of one. It meant, though, that her life had become much quieter. She could no longer busy herself with work as she might have before.

Grimmer discarded his coat on the hanging rack, his hat soon to follow as he slipped out of his shoes and ran fingers through his hair. He hadn’t noticed anything unique at work, nothing that he could think much to comment on. But if he didn’t give her an answer, then the conversation would simply move to another topic - something else that could fill the void that he knew he equally had no proper answer to. It was easier to exaggerate the truth and form a narrative for her.

“Werner was as stressed as ever. But that’s to be expected, with a looming deadline and so little material.”

It was true enough. Grimmer hadn’t seen Werner much that day, but he caught sight of the man muttering quietly to himself over coffee. That served as enough to extrapolate on, and the line was satisfactory to his wife. She smiled, nodding her head.

“That would be like him. Though if he needs workers, he should have let me stay a while longer.” Her expression changed. It was still a smile, but it looked less warm, tinged with something else. Grimmer wasn’t quite sure what it meant, in this context. She stood slowly - carefully, she was much more mindful now in everything she did - and patted down her dress.

“Would you like tea? I was just thinking I’d make some for myself.”

She came to greet him in the front door, stepping up onto her toes to kiss his cheek, one hand finding his as she sought to lead him inside. She drew a thumb over the back of his hand, a gesture of fondness or urgency. He knew her body language well enough, had come to decode it after a few months of study during their time together. Small gestures usually beheld a silent desire; something she wanted him to do or notice. It was a bit troublesome, when he couldn’t know just what it was she sought from him. A kiss, perhaps, that usually sufficed. He lowered to her level, tilting her chin gently to greet her properly as a husband should. 

“Tea would be very welcome. Thank you.”

He had practiced that tone. He knew it was one that she liked - gentler, lower, almost a hum. She smiled once more and nodded, going about her way to put the kettle on. Grimmer thought perhaps a bit too late that he should have offered to do so himself, but she seemed content enough as she was. As her husband, his responsibility for the moment was to ensure that she was in good health, both for her sake and that of their child. She had long turned her focus on the care of their unborn baby; Grimmer was admittedly slower to notice, to recognize how perhaps he could help during this time. On quieter days he knew he had failed her in some way; she became silent when she was upset. But in time, he was forgiven.

There was another silence between them, his wife heading toward the window in the kitchen as she waited for the water to boil, fixing the drapes that hung slightly askew. She looked out the window, expression unseen. Grimmer walked to sit by the kitchen table, unclasping the top button of his shirt and sighing. It was certainly much more comfortable, not to be so uptight as at work.

“I've tried to keep busy. As much as I can. The dishes are all clean...I even tackled the laundry today. It had been bothering me, just sitting there so long. The house feels so much tidier with just that, you know? Imagine if we could keep it that way, just once.”

Ah, that was it.

He was supposed to ask her how her day was. Grimmer supposed that made sense. She had asked him about his, after all. He forgot that sometimes - waited too long to take cues, or missed them in their entirety. He turned a practiced smile toward her even as she brought them both their tea. 

“It sounds like you had a very productive day. That’s a lot to get done on your own.”

It was good to encourage her. He understood that it was difficult for his wife to adjust; until recently she had been a very successful journalist herself, certainly more so than he. Grimmer hadn’t quite understood it at the time, nor did he fully understand it now, but there was always something about her writing that felt more engaging. She served as a second set of eyes for his own work now and then, though his were ultimately inconsequential to his real objective. Her help, all the same, created more human narratives that secured his position. She was quite successful as a journalist, but that had been taken from her now, in part because of him. She was spirited all the same. Motherhood, he supposed, was something she had dreamed of. It certainly seemed that way.

To Grimmer, a child would be inconvenient; certainly it decreased his visibility as a spy even further, but he could not ignore the responsibilities that accompanied fatherhood. There were expectations - ways he should behave. The rearing of the child went to the mother, but as the father he had to serve as a grounding figure to the child. He was the protector, the teacher of discipline where the mother could not reach. It meant he had to learn how to communicate in a way that children would grasp. That would certainly be an undertaking. And of course, children fell ill easily, wounded easily; there would be greater expenses to the both of them with an additional third in their family.

Burdensome though it would be, he couldn’t say that this seemed to be the _wrong_ path. Being a father was a part of adulthood as much as any other facet of growth; it was necessary for him to embrace that. Family was an important societal construct, one that even he must adhere to. And perhaps, to raise a child...to see it through himself...

“It’s getting to be about time, don’t you think?”

Grimmer blinked, caught himself thinking distantly and looked once more toward his wife. Her voice was wistful. Grimmer watched her across the table, slowly setting down his tea. She had that look, the one he’d come to understand held an expectation. He wished she would be more direct with him at times, he had no means to read her mind to know what she wanted. He buried his ignorance with a smile that begged forgiveness, a small plea for her to understand that such a question was too broad in scope for him to grasp in the moment.

“Time for what?”

Her expression didn’t change very much. Something in her eyes wasn’t quite the same but such minute shifts in expression were far too nuanced for his basic understanding. What he did understand, however, was her body language, the slow gesture as her hand traced over the sizeable bump of her stomach. Her gaze lowered there and her face changed again, a look that Grimmer could only describe as a deep personal fondness. Even unborn, unseen, she loved their baby dearly.

“A name. I’d like to be ready. If it’s a boy...if it’s a girl...we should have a few picked out, don’t you think?”

Name...

_”Wolfgang Grimmer. Fourteen years old. These are your parents, Tomas and Hilde. They will be taking care of you from now on. Be a good boy, and listen to your mother and father.”_

Even if he had no memory, he knew that Tomas and Hilde were not his real parents. No more than that name was his real name. How had it come to be, that he was called that? Was it read from a list, an arbitrary choice? Had it held any meaning at all, when it was given to him? And to who, if not himself?

The smiling mask on his face broadened. He didn’t know how else he should look to her, except to smile.

“Did you have any in mind?”

He allowed her to take the lead, but her expression faltered. That had been the wrong thing to say. It wasn’t sad, she didn’t seem _sad,_ but she didn’t seem as happy as before.

“I thought you might have one that you liked.”

She was confused. Grimmer supposed it was normal for most to have come up with names for their children. He was an oddity, not like most. The smile mask crumbled, slowly fading into a face that was a little more neutral, his hands clasping in front of him as he stared at a space on the table between them. He put the smile back, faintly, not quite as bright as before.

"A name is..."

He trailed off. This...was complex in a way he couldn't quite place. Really, he knew many names. There were so many to choose from, names he could pick from colleagues, or neighbours. But there was something not quite right in that, something that didn't seem correct. He'd never even named a pet, let alone a human being. He shook his head.

“I’m not really sure that I know how.”

Grimmer chose to be truthful. He exposed a vulnerability, and his bride took a moment to process what was said. Openness about a weakness was viewed as a very particular form of intimacy, and it seemed to earn sympathy from her. She reached across the table to take one of his hands, making a warm type of face. He had corrected his error.

“Does it worry you that much?" She took his hesitance for concern, and that suited the both of them well enough. "There’s not really a _way_ to it, not like cooking from a recipe. Names are just…” She paused for a moment, drawing her thumb along his fingers absentmindedly. “It’s something that you make with love. Something that’s important to you. Like you…Wolfgang....”

She said it with a certain tone that she sometimes used. It was impassioned though soft, a whisper of tenderness that he only heard from her.

“That’s a powerful name. Your parents must have wished for you to grow up strong, to be someone of great importance. But for ours…”

She retracted her hand again, taking a slow breath as she thought, pulling fingers through her hair.

“Some people like to choose the meaning of a name. The name’s meaning can be powerful too. But I always thought that we should name our children after something that we love. If we have a boy...what about your father?”

Wolfgang was a powerful name. A name wishing for greatness. Something that was cherished and loved.

“Wolfgang” was never said with the tenderness that carried from his wife. If that name was loved, the object of that love was not himself, not by the ones who had given him that name.

But his father…

Despite his ignorance, Grimmer knew that question was twofold. She was asking him something greater, something that came up now and then. _Why…_why it was he never spoke of them, of his mother and father, of his life, his family. _Why all the secrets._ That was a sensitive topic, a wound that had yet to heal.

It would be easy enough to fabricate them. To mould himself into the son of Tomas and Hilde, to create something that she would like to hear - a story of how he once got into an argument with the neighbour’s son when he was little and knocked his tooth loose. Or falling into the river when he and his father went fishing. Those were narratives he could build for her, if he wanted to.

He didn’t, because that would be the last betrayal, erasing what small “self” was there. That was something that he wouldn’t do. He remained honest as he could with her. As much as he was able, without revealing what she should not know. He offered a smile as he had before.

“I have no fond memories of my father. I don’t think that represents a good choice for a name.”

He saw a shift in her shoulders, a slight fall as she brought her hands to rest in front of her, taking a moment before she took up her tea once more. It felt as though the other side of the table had extended, grown further.

“It doesn’t have to be your father. Names can come from anything...someone who influenced you, that holds a lot of meaning to you. A name that feels important to you. I’d thought if we had a daughter, we might name her Sofia. My grandmother’s name. I had also thought Clara, for my teacher…and that's just two. Surely there's someone, or something, you can think of? Even if it seems small.” 

They were both fine names. Both elegant. Clara in particular...he couldn’t say why he held any preference for that name over Sofia, but it certainly resonated with him. Perhaps it was the sound as it left his wife's lips - more pleasing, a gentler flow. He didn't claim to understand that sort of thing.

He could feel, though, the heaviness in the air. An expectation for him to answer, to provide...something, a name of his own. That tone she had used was cooler, almost tinged with an accusation - there _must_ be someone, he surely couldn't live without a single person to admire or love.

Someone important to him…

He remembered things…_things,_ not names. Sounds, smells, feelings, sights. Voices. There was an adult voice he could recall quite well now, but it brought a sense of tension to him, something bad. The owner of that voice had definitely shaped him...but even if he had a name, that person…to give a child that name…

There was a name, one important name. Something that stayed clear to him even now, something he hadn’t lost even in that place. But it seemed clunky….Steiner...Steiner Grimmer...it felt strange, for a child. It didn’t carry the same atmosphere as Clara, or Sofia. It wasn't a good name, not for a child.

A name that had a good sound. He didn’t really know what that meant, or how certain names had better sounds than others. But it gave him something, some sort of reference to construct a name, to give at least a partial answer to his wife. Something in the moment, a name that came to him...

“Reinhart…”

There was a certain apprehension in his tone. Something unintentionally quiet, almost whispered. There was a tension too, in his chest. His wife seemed to be waiting, expecting some sort of explanation perhaps - a reason why, or perhaps she hoped for more. Other names, something more from him. But that alone...that one name had taken time, considerable thought. For just one...and yet with such ease, she had made an entire list…

Grimmer couldn’t be sure why it was so daunting. A name...it should be simple, to come up with options. Letters thrown together in a pleasing way...but it was tasking, incredibly complex. Something felt with love...something important to him...

He was taking too long. He could see the way his wife had started to close on herself. Grimmer stood slowly, walking around behind her. He put an arm around her shoulders, leaning down to kiss the side of her face, near to her ear.

“You’re much better at this than me, I’m afraid. It’s a little bit scary for me, to think of this on the spot. But by the end of the week…” He drew his thumb along her shoulder, that plastic smile perfectly in place. “I’ll give you a list of names then. When I’ve had time to think.”

She nodded slowly, closing her eyes and humming quietly. She leaned in toward him, basking in the minor expression of affection. Perhaps his apology was accepted. Bright eyes met his own with a gentle warmth in their depths. Her smile was genuine.

“I didn’t know you would struggle this much. I didn’t think you'd worry the way you are.”

Grimmer didn’t know what that meant, if it was good or bad. Her voice gave no indicator.

She took his hand, leading it down to rest over her stomach. And for a moment, he was mesmerized, frozen as he let himself do nothing but feel. This...this was where that child was growing. The child that needed a name. A name that represented powerful feelings, something that was loved. 

“We still have time. Plenty of time to find the perfect name for our child.”

She had that warm, fond smile about her once more. Grimmer did his best to mimic it. She tilted her head toward him, seeking affection one more time. Grimmer gave it to her, a kiss he had long practiced, that caused her heart to flutter.

A perfect name…

Grimmer wondered what that was like. Wondered how much his mother and father had thought about it. How much care, how much time…

Someone had given him a name. Someone had taken the time to name him. Even him…

He let his hand draw lower over her stomach, a small and gentle gesture that, however minute, carried an important meaning.

“We shouldn’t rush. Something will come. Something that fits our child the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> :'( He's trying...
> 
> I wanted to try to capture the stage of their relationship at this point...I imagine it's still somewhat positive, but his aloofness is starting to get to his wife. She drops all the hints and he just doesn't catch it, and sort of craves affection....it's just sad times
> 
> For how sad this probably was for them as a couple, I imagine it might have helped Grimmer heal just a little...you know, being able to see how much their child's name matters to his wife. He mattered to someone too ;-;


End file.
